Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Guest Author: Cathy Hird: My Point of View

I am just pleased as punch to be hosting the lovely Cathy Hird today, a fellow author at Prizm Books/Torquere Press.

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I love the way storytellers today pull
us into the perspective of different characters. Writers put us right
at the shoulder of one character after another letting us see events
through their eyes. Even placing us in the skin of a character we
don’t like is powerful. The texture of their reality can help us
see what is truly at stake.

As I worked through my story Moon of
the Goddess, I began with the captured princess Thalassai. She
wakes from a dream in the dark and panics when she realizes she has
been kidnapped. We follow her struggle to hold herself together and
to find strength.

As Thalassai imagines her brother
Melanion racing to her rescue, I figured the reader wanted to see him
too. Their father sends a fleet after her, but her brother knows she
may be killed if there is a direct confrontation. So he rides in
secret to get to her before the fleet and find a way to free her.

As the underlying conflicts of the
story got more complicated, I found that we needed to see what was
happening in the kidnappers’ home.

Too many shifts in point of view can be
confusing, but the story told in Moon of the Goddess needed to
be seen from these three vantage points. I never make you fit inside
the skin of the evil characters, though there are some. Hope you
enjoy the shape of the story!

Thalassai,
pampered princess of ancient Tiryns, wakes from a dream and discovers
she has been kidnapped. Her fear grows to terror when she realizes
her kidnappers intend to use her as a pawn to gain Poseidon’s aid
for their valley. The mother goddess, who in the past sustained the
valley, calls a bloodred harvest moon into the spring sky. She will
challenge Poseidon for the allegiance of her people and assist the
princess.

Thalassai’s
brother Melanion rides north to rescue her, and finds allies among
the servants of the goddess. Slowed by bandits, Melanion is forced to
take a tunnel under the mountains even though earthquakes have
rendered it hazardous. He skirts the edge of Hades’ kingdom as he
races to reach his sister in time. Caught between the mother goddess
and the rising power of Olympus, will Thalassai break under the
strain or find the strength she needs to stand up to her captors?

Set
in the days of Helen of Troy and the great heroes of Greece, this
story takes the reader on a fast paced journey across the
sun-drenched landscape of Homer and deep into darkness.

Here is a hint of what happens; this is
the second day of the princess Thalassai’s captivity:

A
breath of air woke Thalassai from her doze. The afternoon wind was
rising. She looked through the open door and saw that the rowers had
pulled their oars from the water. The ship’s captain gave the order
to unfurl the sail and called the same order across the water to the
other boat. The rowers murmured with relief as they secured the oars
and began the task of raising the sail. Thalassai knew that the
seamen of her city looked forward to this time of day when the wind
took over from their tired arms.

Another
whiff of breeze reached her corner of the cabin, and Thalassai
breathed deeply of the fresh sea air. The midday heat had been
oppressive in the cabin, but she had not dared to step out of its
shelter. On an ordinary trip, she would have spent the sun’s zenith
under the awning that sheltered the men from the burning sun,
encouraging their efforts, listening to her father discuss plans for
trading at their destination. She ached for the warmth of companions
she knew, for the care of her servant Diakonia and the strength of
her father. How could she have been stolen from her home? Tears
flowed down her cheeks. She leaned her head against the ship’s side
and gave in to sorrow.

Eventually,
Thalassai’s tears ran dry, and her body felt empty as a streambed
in summer. Her head ached when she lifted it from the side of the
boat. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the pain, trying to
think. The image of the goddess by the door caught her attention.

“Have
you forgotten your promise to be strong?” The gentle whisper seemed
to come from the image.

I
prayed to be made strong,
she thought. I didn’t promise. She shook her head at the idea that
she argued with a statue, but she sat a little straighter.

“Focus
on what is going to happen next,” whispered the warm, motherly
voice.

Thalassai
stared at the figure of the goddess. Of course, the wooden statue did
not move, but the eyes were deep, and the open hands seemed to reach
toward her. “I’m being taken to Ephyra, a city far from my home,”
she whispered, “a city I’d never heard of before this prince and
his companions arrived in Tiryns.” A thin blade of anger entered
her voice. “There is nothing else to know.”

The
shaft of anger focused her thoughts. She had known that the sail
would go up as soon as she felt the afternoon breeze. She now knew
the captain stood at the rudder on the cabin roof while the men with
practiced hands worked the ropes and sailcloth. She knew that soon
the sailors would lounge on the benches, stretching their arms and
legs with one assigned to watch for rocks and for shifts in the wind.
She wondered if a sailor would be stationed with the captain to watch
for pursuit.

How
far back would Melanion be, she asked herself. She pressed the heels
of her hands against her eyes to hold back the tears and told herself
to figure out what would happen next.

Water
would be passed, and a light meal. Someone might bring her food. She
tried vainly to smooth the wrinkles in her linen tunic. If someone
came, she wanted to look more like a princess. On her father’s
ship, one of the eldest would tell stories as they rested. No one
would sleep, as the sailors needed to be alert for the sudden wind,
which could make the ship heal and turn. Later, as the sun fell
toward the horizon, they would head for shore to seek fresh water and
food.

With
that thought, Thalassai realized that the drink the sailor had given
her had tasted stale. She remembered his comment that water was in
short supply. She realized that the night before they had not found a
stream to replenish their water jars.

What
did that mean? Lines furrowed her brow as she tried to concentrate.
Melanion would know, but she had sailed often enough. She should be
able to figure out the implication. Yes,
but we never went without water,
she thought. Except once. There was one day when a sudden storm
carried them past the village that had been their intended stop. They
had spent the night anchored in the shelter of a cliff, and the next
day, they rationed water. They stopped to fill their water jars at
the first cove with a stream flowing into the ocean.

Thalassai
moved to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over. The sailors
might or might not bring her water now, but they would stop at a
village or a stream even before dusk. This was a land the northerners
did not know, and they dared not miss an opportunity to replenish
their supply. She felt the ship leap forward and knew the sail was up
and full.

She
leaned to look out the door. Aphoron was still standing in the prow,
looking up at the sail. He looked straight toward her, and she pulled
herself back into the shadows. She told herself he could not see into
the darkness of the cabin, but still she shivered. I
am supposed to try to be strong,
she thought. She got off the bed and stood straight, imagining how
tall her father would stand. Aphoron walked toward her between the
benches. Her legs shook. She put her hand on the bed to support
herself.